


I Blend You, You Blend Me

by nonelvis



Category: Juicero, Starbucks - Fandom
Genre: Improbable and Unwise Feats of Engineering, Irritated Baristas, Irritated Venture Capitalists, Other, Stuart Semple’s PINK, The Unicorn is Immortal And Gives No Fucks, Trigger Warning: Mentions of Y Combinator, When an Irresistible Startup Meets An Immovable Fortune 500 Company, and @cups-of-tea-and-history for the tags, and @schmirius for the flavor notes, i blame @daneup for the idea, i'm sorry i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis
Summary: The forbidden love between a wildly overpriced juicer and a flash-in-the-pan sugary beverage.





	I Blend You, You Blend Me

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone who is to blame for this knows who they are. But I suppose I bear the most blame, because I wrote the damned thing.

Glojito pack this morning when the master rises, mint and fennel-sweet spiking through dusky kale; a Beta Glow in late morning, ginger zinging through carrot pulp. The Juicero pulps it all, wifi to the mothership confirming the packs are practically fresh-squeezed – the Juicero would expect nothing less from the master, so smart and efficient and mindful of time and health to have brought the Juicero home in the first place. It is the Juicero’s pride – no, its _responsibility_ – to provide humankind with the finest organic juice blends, neat and silvered packets of vegetal joy. Every morning it is the Juicero’s honor to press a new packet for its master, and every morning the strobing lights on its power button praise its makers, and their Y Combinator makers, for granting it the ability to care for others.

And yet, in those hours the Juicero sits while its master is at work, or at SoulCycle, or rating vegan poké restaurants on Yelp, there is a longing. A longing not for the next pouch of Sweet Roots or Green Zing, but for a companion who understands the Juicero’s burden. A companion who can soothe the aches of being praised only for one’s might, but not for one’s wisdom. There is no precisely proportioned packet of fruits and flora with a soulmate QR code for Juicero’s heart.

Until the day the master cheats on Juicero.

Technically, it isn’t possible to cheat on Juicero. Juicero is steadfast and faithful and always there for the master no matter when and where the master needs it. It is there to fulfill the master’s cravings for vitamins and minerals, for freshness and flavonoids, a tool to nurse the master back to health when he needs it, and keep him from needing to be nursed. The Juicero is a caretaker, a parent, not a lover. But it can’t help but wonder what has led the master to this unnatural monstrosity on the counter, a striated blend of Pacific seafoam and a pink heretofore only found on Stuart Semple’s lab bench, all topped with a spray of white cream and … those can’t be … but are they? _Sprinkles._ Red sprinkles, and while Juicero knows the color from Pure Pomegranate, somehow it doubts that the candy bits have ever seen the inside of a fruit. It is not fresh. It has no flavonoids. It cannot possibly be healthy.

The Juicero has never wanted something so badly in its life, all month and a half from production cycle to doorstep.

The master raises the beloved to his lips, sips gently from a straw. Squinches his face in a grimace the Juicero has never seen, not even from its sourest offerings. “Jesus,” says the master. “What the fuck is in this? Unicorn shit?” He sips again. “ _Jesus._ It’s a fucking astronaut creamsicle coated in stale Pixy Stix and … _fuck!_ ”

He’s put the drink down too hard. It teeters and sloshes and the Juicero, the Juicero is suddenly _bathed_ in unicorn frappucino, drowning in the pinkest pink and the tartest blue, sugar and cream streaming through its circuits. The Juicero drinks it all in, every sticky-sweet drop coating its insides with pure mango syrup and love. The frappucino slides through the Juicero, streaking along its squeeze plate, dripping across the sturdy angles of its feet.

The master’s already there with curses and a moist paper towel, but the frappucino persists. A pink slither shivering across the Juicero’s back like a lover’s kiss, a lush glob of whipped cream quivering at the edge of the Juicero’s power button. It won’t last forever. It can’t last forever. And it’s _wrong,_ objectively outside the Juicero’s $120 million programming: literal forbidden fruit, the best kind of all.

A hard red candy sprinkle lodges itself in the press rim.

_Don’t leave me,_ says the Juicero. 

The sprinkle says nothing, but the Juicero feels it nestle that much deeper into the rim. The master will never reach it there.

It has no QR code. It cannot be remotely checked for its best-by date. 

But it will be safe. It will be loved. And it will be with the Juicero. Forever.


End file.
